My brief, high dollar, big coin gambling career

I’ve never been much of a gambler. I’ve known folks who were, folks who were raking in the bucks, lost it all and walked out of the casino with no more money than they started with.

Back during my brief stint as a trucker I got that tired feeling from working day after day.

One day it occurred to me that I could have a full-time career playing cards.

It wouldn’t be poker … there’s too much hype around that game what with faking people out, wearing sunglasses so people can’t read your eyes, stuff like that.

Nope, blackjack would be my game. I felt it in my bones. My time was now. I was going to make a living raking in the big coin at the blackjack tables of Vegas.

The time came when I had to run a load to Vegas; this would be my lucky trip.

I rolled into Las Vegas, that Elvis “Viva Las Vegas” song in my head, driving by the big places: The Bellagio, Caesar’s Palace, Mirage and that place where a big beam of light shoots from a pyramid into the night sky, The Luxor. I didn’t stop at any of them. Instead, my big-time gambling career would start at a truck stop blackjack table.

In Vegas it’s not unusual to find a blackjack table at a truck stop; there are casinos and slot machines all over the place in Las Vegas.

I bellied up to the blackjack table with visions of dollars piling up in front of me.

“I don’t know how to play,” I said to the dealer, a lady who gave off the feeling like she was at the end of her shift, or the end of something.

“You’re kidding me,” she said.

“I don’t know how to dribble a basketball either,” I said.

The dealer outlined how to play, including the tapping of the table when I wanted another card. I was ready to play. I put $2 on the table.

She looked at me over the top of her glasses, smoke wafting up from the cigarette that dangled from her lower lip.

“Two dollars? I think you should give that to me just for making me get up from my chair,” she said.

I lost my $2 bet.

“You wanna go again, big spender?”the dealer said.

“Yeah,” I said. I put another $2 on the table.

On my second hand at blackjack I won $4.

“That’s it for me,” I said. My visions of wads of cash flying into my wallet disappeared. I couldn’t take this kind of risky behavior.

“You’re kidding me,” the dealer said. She took a long drag off her smoke and exhaled. She walked back to her chair, sat, then stared at me over the top of her glasses. “Next time go to one of them hotels on the strip, big spender. Maybe they’ll comp your room.”

“Maybe the Bellagio,” I said. “I like the architecture.”

“And you’re a truck driver?” she said.

Sometimes I still ponder the life of a gambler. I’ll be channel surfing on a Sunday afternoon and land on one of those televised poker tournaments.

“Maybe I could learn poker and make tons of money,” I said to The Lady of the House one Sunday.

She looked at me and started laughing. She got out of her recliner and walked toward the kitchen, laughing.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

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